One of These Mornings
by TheaJ1
Summary: Set in season 10, before The Four Percent Solution. Things are a little tense between H&M and when Mac's temper gets the better of her, she provokes him into doing something they may both regret the day after. Two-chapter piece.
1. And I'll be gone

**A/N: This is set in season 10 sometime before The Four Percent Solution, when things were still a little tense. There's some angst. Hope you enjoy it! It's a two-chapter piece and I'll upload the second and final chapter as soon as it's finished.**

**Inspired by One of These Mornings by Moby feat. Patti LaBelle.**

**A side note: I have never ever written any lemon before this, so this probably won't be nearly as good as what you're used to. But everyone started small. :)**

**Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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One of These Mornings

1 And I'll be gone

Mac knew this was a bad idea even before they walked into Harm's apartment. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be near him. His presence made her feel off-balance, until she didn't know anymore where was up and where was down, until she didn't trust herself anymore. They hadn't exchanged a single word as they hurried inside, trying to avoid the worst of the rain that had started pouring down when she stepped out of her car. To be honest, they hadn't been doing much talking at all in the last couple of weeks. Unless it was work-related, of course. But what had come naturally to them before, felt forced now.

Mac didn't want things between them to be like this, but she didn't know how she could stop what they were becoming, undo what they'd already become. It was her fault; she was only too aware of that. Harm had offered his help, his comfort, and she had turned him down. Had asked for space, for time. He was giving her both. Like she had asked. But it didn't make her happy, didn't help her to figure things out. And she hated this, hated that she couldn't talk to her best friend anymore, couldn't discuss her problems with him. She had nobody else to talk to. Nobody she trusted the way she trusted him.

_Work, that's all_, she told herself as she closed the door behind her and put down her briefcase. _We'll go over the case, compare notes and then I'll go home_. Hopefully, once Monday came around, she'd have figured out what she wanted.

_Isn't that what you hoped last weekend?_

"Would you like something to drink?" Harm asked as he dropped his own briefcase by his desk and tossed his cover with unerring precision on the coat stand by the door. "Tea? Coffee? I think there's soda in the fridge, too."

"No, thanks." Mac hated how distant she sounded, but she couldn't help herself. "Let's just get this over with, shall we? We've both had a long day."

"Sure." With a curt nod, he turned and opened the fridge. "You can set up there." His back still to her, he gestured at the counter.

Mac didn't move.

Rain was drumming against the windows so hard she could barely hear the noise he made rummaging around in the fridge. She hadn't wanted to discuss this before; there simply hadn't been the right time, or enough of it, to properly explain to him what exactly it was that was bothering her. Even if she couldn't figure out what she wanted, she could at least make clear that she didn't want _this_. She hadn't meant to reject him. Or his friendship.

But apparently that was the impression he'd gotten.

"What's wrong?" he wanted to know when he noticed that she stood rooted to the spot.

"What happened to us?" she asked before she could change her mind. Was it her fault that they'd hit another bump in the road? A bump that was the size of the Mount Everest, so big that she saw no way past it.

Harm leaned on the counter, hands loosely folded. She didn't know what to make of the expression on his face. "You needed space. I'm giving you space."

"We don't have to stop being friends for that."

"Is that the impression you get?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "That I'm not your friend anymore? Or," he added before she could respond, in a way that made her think he was speaking just as impulsively as she had, "is that the problem? That we're friends? Because you seemed awfully upset when Alicia asked me out to have dinner with her after we won the case."

Mac clenched her hands. Was he right? Was that the problem? "So you're still seeing her then," she managed eventually, deciding that now wasn't the right time to have this discussion after all. But she regretted the question as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She could have slapped herself. She was honest enough to herself to admit that she was jealous, but she'd rather bite off her tongue than say that out loud.

"I can't see where that's any of your business," Harm replied, each word sharp, precise and cutting like a sharpened scalpel.

"You opened that door," she shot back, although his tone made her flinch.

"This isn't a courtroom, Counsellor. But no." His gaze had her pinned and there was something in his eyes that Mac couldn't quite identify. Calculation? Did he want to see how she'd react? "I'm not still seeing her. It was just one dinner invitation." He gave a tiny smile. "You're sounding a little jealous there, Mac." His voice was mocking.

She just stared at him. How did he do that? How did he see through her so easily when she herself couldn't even figure out what she was feeling half of the time? It was driving her crazy. "I should go," she said after a moment, between clenched teeth. But she didn't move. She couldn't stand it when Harm was like this. She could tell he was angry, but for someone who was so driven by emotions it got him into trouble on a regular basis, he had a pretty tight grip on them when he chose so. It made her want to punch him in the guts, just to get him to react the way she thought he should.

So she did the next best thing to hitting him that she could think of. "You know what?" she said, her voice so unexpectedly cold he actually took a half-step back. "I'm beginning to think that Sturgis was right. That I should just get you out of my system and be done with it once and for all. Maybe then we could interact like normal people."

"Don't you dare reduce us to that," Harm retorted, dangerously quiet.

The edge in his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Outside, lightning flashed, thunder following directly on its heels.

"Maybe that's where we've been wrong," she said icily. "That we assumed there was more between us. Maybe there isn't and the problem I have can be easily cured."

She knew it couldn't. She knew that, but she couldn't stop the words from spilling out of her.

He turned away. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because," he snapped. She saw him ball his hands to fists.

"So you won't say no to someone like Alicia Montes, but you'll say no to me?" she asked, aware that she was pushing him, but she couldn't resist. She _wanted_ to fight. She wanted him to push back.

The lights went out that very instant.

A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the dark apartment and Mac was strangely happy to see that she had finally gotten through to him. Oh yes, he was angry now.

"I haven't slept with her, Mac," he grated.

"I wouldn't care if you had." A lie and it was so blatantly obvious to him that he laughed once.

"If I recall correctly, then you were the one who said that there was no chance of us ever being in a relationship together. Because, and I quote, we both want to be on top and that's emotionally and physically impossible. So you have no right to be jealous, Mac. Come back when you've figured out what you want."

She cringed as he flung her own words back at her and was grateful that he didn't see her reaction in the momentary darkness. "I'm not talking about a relationship!" she hissed. "I'm talking about sex."

She could hardly believe hearing the words coming out of her mouth. What on earth had gotten into her? That wasn't her. That wasn't what she wanted. Why couldn't she just shut up? Shut up and get the hell out of here before she did something—did any more—she might regret later.

Lighting and thunder were coming in rapid succession now and the noise of the battering rain was all-consuming. It sounded like the world was ending.

It was eerie.

Mac's pulse was racing as she waited for Harm's reaction. Any reaction. _Leave!_ common sense, or what was left of it, ordered, but she didn't obey. Instead, she stood her ground. Her palms were sweaty and she rubbed them over her skirt, grateful that the lights were still out; she didn't want him to know how nervous she was and the eerie flashes of bone-white lightning weren't enough to see properly.

Neither of them spoke.

Then he looked up and although Mac couldn't see the expression on his face, the rigid way he moved told her that he was beyond pissed now. She fought the urge to retreat as he started towards her. He was going to throw her out; she had practically insulted him in his own apartment and he'd made it pretty clear that he didn't want her company right now.

She wasn't going without a fight. He'd have to physically remove her if he wanted her to leave.

But when he was right in front of her, so close that she could hear him breathe despite the howling storm, she did step back until she came up against the door and she had nowhere else to go. Putting his palms against the wood on either side of her head, he leaned into her, pinning her with his body, and her breathing accelerated. She gasped for air, her heart thudding in her chest, matching the staccato rhythm of the rain drumming against the window.

He was so close that their lips were almost touching. If she made the tiniest movement, if she lifted her head just a little bit, she'd be kissing him. The thought made her stomach curl, and heat spread out from the centre of her body like wildfire. Was he giving her a choice? she wondered. One last chance to back out before they did something they'd regret afterwards?

As she contemplated this, he cupped his right hand around her neck, causing her skin to tingle, and buried his fingers in her hair; a moment later he yanked out the hairpins she had used to pin it up and it fell around her shoulders, damp from the rain. And then he ground his hips against hers and as she cried out in surprise at the unexpected sensation, he kissed her. All that she could feel and taste and hear and see and smell was him. His hand on her neck, warm and soft, his mouth on hers, hot and demanding; his tongue in her mouth and the bitter taste of coffee; his rapid breathing, his racing heart; his broad shoulders; his aftershave, the one she'd used for as long as she could remember, the one that made her instantly think of him whenever she came across it, and just _him_.

This was wrong on so many levels, but Mac didn't want to stop, didn't want to pull back. He would let her; it was clear that he wasn't going to stop if she wasn't, but he'd never make her do something, force something on her, that she didn't want a hundred per cent. If she asked him to, he'd stop.

But she didn't.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hot and raw and hungry and it made her bones melt from the inside out and her thoughts turn into incoherent nonsense. It was different from the way he'd kissed her before, more demanding. Demanding that she give everything she was willing to give.

Gasping for air, they broke apart. She reached for the front of his jacket, fumbling to undo the buttons, and he shrugged out of it willingly the second she'd managed to open in. It landed somewhere behind them in the dark, followed by his tie. She accidentally popped the two top buttons off his shirt in her haste to get it off, but he didn't seem to mind. Or maybe he didn't even notice because his hands were all over her, unbuttoning her own jacket and the blouse she wore underneath. His hands were hot against her skin as they wandered along the curves of her hips, over her abdomen, up her back. A second later, the clasp of her bra snapped open and his right hand curved possessively around her breast.

_Bad idea! _common sense yelled at her.

_Why? _she asked, puzzled, because she honestly couldn't come up with one good reason why they shouldn't do this. Splinters of thoughts tumbled around in her head, but she didn't want to reach out and bring order to the chaos. She liked chaos. Had always liked it. It made her feel alive and she didn't think she'd ever felt more alive than now, her skin hot and flushed and too tight for her body and every nerve ending on fire, sizzling with his every touch.

She struggled with his belt and he had to let go of her for a moment to help her, but then that was gone too and he was touching her again and she reached down his slacks. As she gripped him, a shudder went through him and he groaned into her mouth.

Sliding his hands down her sides, he undid the zipper of her skirt and, when it lay in a puddle around her ankles, hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of her panties and started pulling it down.

Her hands trembling with excitement, she wrenched his slacks over his hips along with his boxers. The liquid heat between her legs had become unbearable; she needed him. Now. But just as she placed her hands on his hips, he pulled back. She hissed in frustration. He just looked at her and she realised that he was giving her one last out.

She didn't want it.

She dug her fingers into his hips and pulled him towards her.

His reached down to hitch up her leg and then he was inside her in a single stroke.

Her universe came apart and when she finally got a grip on it, had pulled the pieces of reality somewhat back into place, he was already moving, thrusting into her impatiently. Her mind had been in chaos before, fragments of thoughts all over the place. Now there was nothing. There was peace. All that mattered was that he was inside her, that he was holding her, kissing her, caressing her.

One last, deep thrust and she came undone. She clung to him to ride out the wave of pleasure and reality slipped away from her once more. She couldn't grasp it; all she could do was wait for the moment to pass, although she didn't want it to. She didn't want this to ever end—she wanted this feeling to last forever.

But it didn't and when reality set in, so did the horrifying knowledge that what they had just done had probably ruined their friendship—or what had been left of it before—for good. The thought made Mac want to cry, but she forced the tears back down. She'd cry later, when she was alone in her bed in the dark. Then she'd mourn for what she had destroyed. But she would not cry in front of him, make him feel guilty.

"What are we doing?" Harm asked huskily as he rested his forehead against hers and reached up to touch her face, gently running his thumb across her cheek.

"I don't know," Mac whispered, her voice already thick with tears that she feared she wouldn't be able to hold in for much longer. She had to leave. She knew that. But she couldn't bring herself to step out of his arms, away from the warmth of his body.

Suddenly, she felt him tense. She forced her fingers to let go of his shirt, but instead of pulling away from her like she had expected him to, he gently cupped her face with both hands and kissed her again.

**tbc**

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**A/N: Any thoughts on the morning after?**


	2. You will look for me

**A/N: Writing the resolution of this story was quite a struggle and I hope I managed to do it to everyone's satisfaction. Thank you so much for your lovely reviews! You have no idea how happy getting them makes me. I will reply to them individually at some other time; I'm sadly behind on all my review replies due to finals. **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.**

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2 You will look for me

Mac woke to the smell of fresh coffee.

She didn't wake up the way she usually did, fully alert and ready to jump out of bed. This time she drifted awake slowly, gradually. She didn't want to get out of bed yet; she wasn't quite past the barrier between sleeping and waking and she knew that if she tried hard enough, she'd go back to sleep. Maybe even back into the dream she'd had, back to something she knew she could never have.

The dream had felt so real.

She frowned slightly as something sparked inside her mind. Realisation. She sat up in a jerky motion, instantly awake. It hadn't been a dream. It hadn't been a dream at all.

According to her internal clock, it was already past seven in the morning, but except for a soft golden glow spilling into the bedroom from the living area, it was dark.

Rain pounded against the windows, unrelenting.

Mac had planned to sneak out and be gone long before Harm woke. She had wanted to avoid this. Had wanted to forget this ever happened because it wouldn't change anything. They were still who they'd always been. She should have left last night, should never have allowed him to lead her to his bedroom.

oOo

Just a few more minutes_, she vowed to herself as she lay beside him, his arm draped over her and his hand curved around her arm, their legs intertwined. She just lay there, listening to his even breathing and the steady drumming of the rain and finding both strangely comforting. She brushed her knuckles across his cheek; he stirred, tightening his hold on her arm ever so slightly. Even in sleep he was holding on to her, was aware that she was with him. It made her want to cry._

Just a few more minutes_, she told herself again as she blinked away the tears burning in her eyes. She had to leave before he woke, but she wanted to lie with him just a little while longer, wanted to revel in the feeling of his skin against hers and the comforting warmth of his body. She wanted to have something to remember for when she was in her own bed later, cold and alone. Something to hold on to for when she couldn't hold on to him anymore._

Just a few more minutes_, she thought drowsily, snuggling deeper into his embrace._

oOo

Her throat constricted at the memory. What had gotten into her? She'd known before that having sex with him was not the answer. She hadn't thought ahead, hadn't considered the consequences of opening herself up to him like that. And she certainly hadn't thought about what it would mean for her if he opened himself up to _her_, what it would do to their relationship. But he had and she couldn't handle that, couldn't handle any of it, really. Not the way he'd made her feel last night. Not the new intensity of the connection between them.

Mac had known she'd end up hurting herself, but she'd never meant to hurt Harm as well.

She knew she had to get up eventually, but it still took her nearly fifteen minutes to work up the courage to crawl out of bed, clutching the blanket to her chest self-consciously. Only then did she remember that she didn't have anything to wear but her uniform and that was nowhere to be found. Something grey at the foot of the bed caught her attention—a pair of sweatpants and a matching sweater with blue lettering on the front. US NAVY.

Hesitantly, she put on both, wondering what had happened to her underwear. Her cheeks went hot at the thought, embarrassment momentarily outweighing guilt.

It didn't last long. The clothes were freshly washed and the smell of the detergent that Harm used—and that she associated with him like she did with his aftershave—yanked her back to reality and to the cold, hard fact that she was standing in his bedroom, in his clothes, because she had slept with him.

Mac had to roll up the legs of the sweats several times before she could walk safely without tripping and she took her time. She wasn't in any hurry to speak to him, although she was very much aware that she was only delaying the inevitable. But how could she even look him in the eye after last night?

Finally, she straightened and shoved the sleeves up her arms. There was nothing left to do but walk out there and face him. Apologise and try to mend the damage she'd done as best as she could.

_Oh who am I kidding? _she thought bitterly.

At the bottom step, she paused, arms folded in front of her chest. She just stood there, watching as Harm moved about the kitchen, making breakfast. The radio was on, though she didn't recognise the song. The rain was too loud.

When he turned and saw her standing there, she felt very much like a deer in the lights of an oncoming car—certain that she was going to die. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands clenched into fists. For a moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes unreadable.

"Good morning," he said eventually, nothing in his voice to give her an idea about what he was thinking.

"Morning," she whispered, looking away.

"Coffee?"

"Sure," she replied, although she wanted nothing more than to just get out of here. But she couldn't. Not yet. She owed it to him that she apologised and at least tried to explain what had gotten into her, even though she didn't know herself. She'd achieved nothing, gained nothing by sleeping with him.

oOo

_She smiled as he reached up to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear because it tickled his chin. His right hand was moving up and down her back in long, languid strokes. She loved the sensation of his calloused hand against her skin and she wanted to lose herself in his touch, wanted to never let go of him again. Grasping his right hand, she held it against her heart._

_He smiled._

oOo

"Mac?"

She blinked, startled out of the memory. "What?"

Harm was staring at her. "Do you want breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," she muttered.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied automatically, but he was still staring and when she followed his gaze, she saw that she had placed her hand where his had been last night. She swallowed. She didn't dare look up and meet his eyes as she settled at the counter where he'd put a steaming mug of coffee.

"Look, Mac, I'm sorry."

Surprised, she looked up after all. "For what?" She knew what she had to apologise for, but what had he done?

"Haven't you noticed?" Walking to her side, Harm touched a spot on the left side of her lower back.

It was obvious that he was trying to be careful, but she still winced in pain. She pulled the sweater out of the way, revealing an ugly, bluish bruise the size of a tennis ball. It looked like someone had punched her. "When did that happen?" she asked, confused. She honestly couldn't recall.

"My guess is the doorknob."

"Oh." She blushed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

There. He'd said the words she was meant to say to him, not the other way around.

"I didn't mean to hurt you either," she whispered. "I'm so very sorry."

"For what?" he wanted to know as he returned to the other side of the counter to stir what, judging by the smell, she assumed was porridge.

Mac gave a bitter, incredulous laugh. "You have to ask?"

He didn't look up from the pot. "Did it work? Am I out of your system?" She almost didn't catch the bitter edge in his tone buried underneath all that indifference, but it was there, and it hurt.

_Don't you dare reduce us to that_, she wanted to say because after last night she knew beyond any doubt that they were more than that. She had always known, in a way; now she had it confirmed. She had so desperately wanted him to tell her that he loved her. Because he did. The way he had held her and touched her last night… He loved her. He had _shown_ her the depths of his feelings for her, feelings that she had refused to acknowledge because she'd waited for the actual words.

Mac knew it didn't matter. Knowing for certain didn't change anything because she feared that they had already moved past the point where they could have made a relationship work, that it was too late. Besides, nothing had changed.

They were still who they'd always been.

"I'm sorry," she repeated instead of answering his question.

"Stop apologising." Impatience coloured his voice. He turned off the stove and began scooping steaming porridge into two white bowls. He seemed to have forgotten that she didn't want any breakfast. "It's not like I couldn't have stopped it."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Yes, why didn't I?" he muttered to himself as he put the empty pot into the sink and turned on the faucet. Water splashed. "Why didn't I?" It sounded like a rhetorical question, one that he'd already asked himself before, maybe even answered.

"I should leave," she whispered.

"You can't. It's been raining all night and there was a pile-up on the Beltway an hour ago. You'll be stuck here until they clear it."

Mac wrapped her fingers around her mug. It was uncomfortably hot, but she would have touched an open flame if only it could have warmed the cold inside her. She had made things worse between them.

oOo

_His hand was buried in her hair, gently tilting back her head so he could kiss her exposed throat. She shuddered, digging her fingers into his chest. Then he lifted her up, the movement so sudden that she yelped in surprise. Laughing quietly, he put her down, the sheets cool underneath her back. Hovering above her, he kissed her, softly, tenderly, but it was no less demanding than the previous kisses they had shared. She wrapped her legs around his waist, wound her hand around the back of his neck. His skin was as flushed, felt as hot, as hers. He let her guide him into her. There was no rush this time, no haste, no impatience. This wasn't even about lust. This was about comfort, about being joined intimately with the person that was the centre of your universe, about feeling safe. About feeling loved._

oOo

She shook her head, chasing the memory away. It hurt. She wanted to be with him more than she wanted anything else in the world, but she knew it wouldn't work. They'd always battle for control. Concessions would have to be made and she wasn't certain if they were ready for that. If they'd ever be ready for that. She had thought she had ended any chance they may have had in Paraguay—she'd never counted on her own feelings to mess with her head until she was questioning her own decisions, until she was so thoroughly confused that she felt lost. She didn't know how to deal with that, deal with _everything_ that life had thrown her way since Paraguay. She just knew that she didn't want to lose him.

But now she'd gone and screwed up what they had had.

Her eyes started burning. Her vision blurred. She blinked furiously—she didn't want to cry in front of him—but the tears just brimmed over, streaming down her cheeks, silent and hot. She couldn't stop them. She brushed them away with her sleeve, rubbed the fabric over her eyes until her face felt raw, but they just kept coming. Her throat constricted. She fought to keep the rising sob inside and nearly choked. A strangled sound escaped her—it sounded like an animal in pain.

Through the haze of tears, she saw Harm spin around.

"Hey!" he said, his voice raised in alarm. Reaching across the counter, he peeled her hands off her mug so that he could take them into his own. The warmth of his touch, the gentleness with which he held her hands, made her cry harder. She gave up on trying to hold the tears in; it was a battle she would never have won anyway.

It wasn't just her most recent of her mistakes she was crying for. She was crying for the mess that was her life, for missed chances, missed opportunities. Things she wanted. Things she might never have. Things she had lost. Things she had destroyed.

At some point, she became aware that Harm was holding her, gently rubbing her back in a way that was clearly meant to comfort her. Why did he do that? How could he be there the instant she needed him, never mind how awful she'd been to him before, how much distance she'd put between them. How could he do that without feeling used?

Finally, there were no more tears left. Her eyes hurt, so did her throat. She swallowed; that hurt too. "Why can't we make this work?" she rasped.

He tightened his arms around her. "I don't know," he replied, sounding just as miserable as she had.

"I asked you once," she said huskily, "if you'll always be there for me. You said you would. But how can I ask that of you? I have no right to keep you from moving on. From letting you find someone you can be happy with."

"Mac," Harm began, then paused. Began again. Paused again. She glanced up to look at his face and he seemed to be warring with himself.

"What?" she whispered, not sure she wanted to know what he had to tell her, but asking anyway.

He looked away. "I don't think that I'll ever feel about anyone else the way that I feel about you," he whispered.

Whatever it was Mac had thought he would say, she hadn't expected that. Certainly not that. She had told herself repeatedly that even if he told her how he felt about her, it wouldn't change anything. Now that he'd said it, it somehow had. Silence hung between them, filled with tension. He deserved an answer. She _wanted_ to answer, but what would she say?

She had no idea.

The door flew open and they both startled at the unexpected noise.

Mac was relieved—saved by the bell, at least for now.

"Hey, Harm, can I borrow… oh. Hi, Mac."

Mac peered over Harm's shoulder to find Mattie standing in the doorway in a pair of blue plaid PJs, staring at them. "Sorry," she said eventually. "I guess I should have knocked. I didn't know you had company. Uh." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. Her discomfort was obvious.

"What is it that you need?" Harm asked.

"Milk," she replied quickly. "We're out and you kind of need a boat to go outside, so…" She gestured at the fridge.

"Yeah, sure. Take what you need."

"Thanks." She went to get it, clearly embarrassed. Sloshing bottle in hand, she turned and frowned when she got a proper look at Mac's tear-streaked face. She shot Harm a questioning look and Mac felt his shoulders move in response. "Okay," Mattie said, still staring at them. She gave herself a little push. "I'll see you later, I guess." With that and a half-hearted wave, she fled the apartment.

Silence fell again. When Harm let go of her, Mac wanted to reach out to stop him, but she didn't dare. She still hadn't figured out what to say. Was there even anything she could say?

He put the bowl of porridge in front of her, along with a spoon and an open jar of Nutella. He wasn't looking at her.

"What you just said," she managed eventually because she _had_ to say something, anything. "What did you mean by that?" She knew what he meant; she wasn't that stupid. But it was the only thing that she could come up with.

He shook his head once, the movement so tiny that she wondered if he was even aware of it. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

She said nothing.

"I love you, Mac."

She just stared at him, her mind a mess. _I love you, Mac_. She was incapable of forming even a coherent thought, let alone a whole sentence. What was she supposed to reply anyway? _I love you too._ Because she did. She was in love with him and she wanted to tell him, but…

"So you see," he continued, frowning down at his bowl, "I was just as selfish as you were."

"What do you mean?" she whispered. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak.

"You asked me why I didn't stop it? Why I slept with you. That's the reason. I wanted you and you made it pretty clear that I could never have you."

"So you just took what you wanted?"

"You let me. You wanted me too."

"I did that, didn't I?" she whispered to herself.

"I used you as much as you used me."

"This wasn't what I wanted."

"Then tell me." He looked up. His eyes bored into hers. "What exactly is it that you want?"

"I want there to be an 'us'!" Mac cried, desperate.

"Do you?"

His quiet tone made her want to punch him. "I'm in love with you," she said instead, as despair won out against her fear of admitting how she felt about him.

Again, she didn't get the reaction she expected. "Are you?"

"Stop it!" she shouted, reaching her limit. She couldn't take it anymore. He was giving her whiplash—one minute he was comforting her, the next he was provoking her into a fight.

_Isn't that what you did yesterday? Provoking him?_

"Stop talking to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like that!" Mac slammed her palms on the counter. "All calm and superior. It's driving me insane." She got up, pacing like a caged animal. She was angry now. "Why can't we go back to the way things were before?" She had no idea why she even said it. She wanted it, she did. But not enough. She didn't want him just as her friend. If she had learned anything last night, then this.

"We both know the answer to that question."

"If you love me and I love you, then why can't we be together? I don't understand why we can't make it work!"

Harm sighed. "Neither do I."

This wasn't getting them anywhere.

"We shouldn't have slept together," she said eventually. Hollow, broken.

"No," he agreed quietly. "We shouldn't have. We knew this—us—was never about sex."

"Yeah." She sighed in defeat. "Do you think we'll ever be able to get past this thing with us?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "I just want to be happy." A whisper. "I just want to be with someone I love, someone who loves me. Why is that so hard?"

"Because you keep making complicated things too simple."

"And you keep making simple things too complicated!" she shot back, anger spiking. "You're afraid to commit."

"That's pretty rich coming from someone who practically left her fiancé at the altar."

Mac cringed. He wasn't wrong, but the comment stung anyway.

"I'm sorry," Harm said immediately. "I was out of line." He ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "But _you_ said there couldn't be an 'us', Mac."

"What if I changed my mind?" she asked, grasping at straws now.

"Won't change who we are, Mac. And you pretty much summed up who we are in Paraguay."

_Maybe I was wrong_, she wanted to say. _Maybe we can find a way_. But the words got stuck in her throat.

"Do you remember what you asked me on the LHA?" he asked suddenly and the question took her completely by surprise because she'd put this conversation out of her mind a long time ago. What he was referring to had happened nearly three years ago and a lot had changed since then.

Still she answered his question. "I remember."

"You never heard my answer. You walked out on me."

"I didn't expect you to answer. It wasn't entirely fair of me to ask you that anyway. I was hurting and you hadn't been there for me, for which it also wasn't fair of me to blame you, and I just… I just wanted you to say something. Anything."

"Well, if you'd waited instead of storming out, I would have told you that yes, I would have given up my girlfriend for you. You never gave me another chance to tell you, Mac. You never gave 'us' a chance."

"Don't you dare blame this all on me!" she snapped. "This isn't just my fault. There've always been complications with you. Other women. Looking for your father. Work. Flying."

"Not anymore."

"Doesn't change who we are, Harm."

"What the hell is it that you want from me then?" he demanded, shouting now. "Tell me, Mac. What do you want?"

"I told you!" she cried. "I love you. I want to be with you. It shouldn't be this complicated!"

Then why was it? Why wasn't she?

He closed his eyes. "Mac," he said quietly, exhausted, like shouting at her had drained all energy right out of him, "I'm not sure I can be who you want me to be."

She shook her head. "But I don't want you to be anyone else. I fell in love with who you are."

"Didn't sound like that at your engagement party."

"That's what you got from what I said?" she asked, disbelief in her tone. "That I didn't want you because you have issues? We all have. For heaven's sake, I'm an alcoholic, Harm. Issues don't get any bigger than that." It had taken her a while to figure out that she was willing to live with them if he was, but she had, in the end. Because if there was one thing she had learned in her previous relationships, then it was that you couldn't change the person you loved. You shouldn't want to. Love should be unconditional.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know." She didn't know anything anymore. Her world had stopped making sense.

"This is getting us nowhere," Harm said, tired.

"No." Dejected, Mac sank down on his sofa and pulled up her knees against his chest. She felt like she had just run an emotional marathon that left her raw on the inside, vulnerable. They weren't going to find a solution. How could they when they didn't even seem to know what the problem was? They were going in circles and it hurt to go over and over it again. Something had to give if they were to salvage the shattered remains of their friendship and turn them into something that wouldn't cause them both so much pain. If that was even possible.

"Mac," Harm said as he sat down beside her, his thigh touching hers, "we're good together."

"Are we?" she asked. "We fight all the time. People that hardly know us notice that there's tension between us."

"That tension isn't there because we're incompatible and don't get along. It's there because we both refuse to accept the fact that we're more than friends. We've always assumed that a relationship wouldn't work. We've only ever focused on why we shouldn't be together."

She had to admit that he had a point. But there was something else that bothered her. "Why do you only seem to want me when you can't have me?"

He sighed. "Fair question. Well, the short answer is because I'm an idiot."

That made her smile and he reached over to take her hands into his own. For some reason, it always fascinated her how small her hands were in comparison to his, small and delicate, fragile even. "And the long?"

"The long answer is that I couldn't work up the courage to tell you how I felt when you were available and that I panicked when you weren't because I thought you might be gone for good this time. But I've always wanted you."

"You could have told me all that."

Harm gave her a funny look. "Mac, how long have you known me? When have I ever talked about my feelings? To anyone?"

"Good point," she admitted. "I guess that on some level I've always known that you had feelings for me. But I thought I needed to hear you say it."

"You thought?"

She glanced up to meet his eyes. "I did until last night."

"And now?"

"Now I know it doesn't matter." She sighed.

"What?" he asked, worried.

"What if it doesn't work?" That was Mac's greatest fear—that their relationship would fail and she'd lose him forever. But what choice did they have when it came down to it? Last night they'd crossed a line and there was no going back. That was impossible. They could only move ahead now, for better or for worse. Because Mac knew that if they didn't, if they tried to restore their friendship—just friendship, nothing more—and denied themselves something they both craved, it would kill what they had for good. Sooner or later they'd grow apart. They'd have to; anything else would hurt too much.

"We won't know that until we've tried," Harm said softly. "And we don't have anything to lose."

"True," she allowed, but even she heard the uncertainty in her voice. She had spent so much time thinking about why it wouldn't work that she could barely see around that now. See why it would work. Why they'd make a good couple. Why they'd be good together and good for each other.

"Look." He squeezed her hands. "Why don't we just take this one day at a time and see where it leads us?"

"Yes," she whispered and elation coursed through her when she did, banishing her doubts, at least for the moment. She'd do just what he'd suggested, take it one day at a time, deal with problems when they came up.

And maybe that way they could make it work.

_**Finis**_


End file.
